depression & holidays

Depression strikes at the strangest times. Like on Easter holidays when you're with your family and have four days of relaxing and fun together. It's not even that you should be happy it's that you are happy, except.... your depression starts to seep into your very being as if to serve as a warning. For happiness is the enemy.

You're filled with self-doubt and self-loathing. You ache from forced smiles. Your body shuts down. Your throat hurts. You want to die. Except you don't. Not really. You're actually pretty fucking happy! But your head is ruining it. It wants you to sink into the darkness. You're tired now. You don't even fight it. You just let it do its thing. There's no point even trying when your head is like this. Forcing happiness is worse. Pretending you're not dead inside is even more painful than actually being dead inside so you leave it.

You think of the what ifs? The anxiety starts to seep in. You picture death on walks to school. Car accidents and dead animals. Every imaginable catastrophe happens all at once and, of course, it all happens to you because you're a worthless pile of shit and you deserve all the bad in the entire world. Nobody else. Just you.

You succumb to bed and blankets. Watch feel-good movies in the hopes that they'll lift your spirits but they don't. They can't. So you wait. And you keep waiting and one day you'll feel better. One day...


dear house of cards...

I don't know if we can be friends anymore. That breaks my heart. Shatters it into a million pieces in fact. See, Frank Underwood is my hero. I love him. I have a very loud and obnoxious crush on him. He is all the sexual things. But, guess what? Even Frank Underwood can't save the train wreck that is Claire. I hate her with every fiber of my being. When I look at her fucking stupid face I dream that you'll push her in front of a train too. But you haven't. Why is that Frank?

I hate Claire Underwood and her stupid bony body and her dumb face and her ugly hair that I can't even stand it. This is so unlike me. In real life I don't think these things about people. And I actually really love Robin Wright. But, fuck, Claire Underwood sucks up any of the wetness Frank creates and she makes my eyes hurt. 

I can't watch the show anymore. Never mind the fact that they killed off my second favourite character. Meechum, I loved you buddy. Why did you have to die? And if you absolutely had to couldn't you have stomped on Claire's head a bit before you did?

House of Cards you were one of the only shows Husband and I could watch together. You bonded us and because Frank is so darn sexy you *may* have improved our sex life. But now... now what? What are we supposed to do with our lives? 

Perhaps we could keep watching even though the atrocity that is Claire Underwood continues to fill our screens with her horrifically uptight dress sense and her stupid hand pose as if she thinks she's better than everyone? But I can't. I just can't. Nobody is sexy enough to make up for the fact that she's a stupid fucking bitch. If Frank can kill Kate Mara then can't he kill her? I mean, really, nobody would even care. She's stupid and self-righteous and could use a good stabbing or two.

I wish this little ranty letter had made me feel better but, alas, it hasn't. Such a shame. I miss you House of Cards but the only way I'm coming back is if you can promise me Claire dies. In fact, if you could dedicate an entire episode {or seventy} to her dying in massive amounts of pain that would be wonderful.


*p.s. I'm not really a psychopath...


can we discuss how stupid anxiety is?

I feel like anxiety is the dumbest thing which feels like such a stupid thing to say but, fuck, its true.

I have always felt kind of wrong in my body, hence the abundance of showers. Itchy. Dirty. Wrong. As if the worthless feelings soaked into my skin and devoured my entire being. But now the feeling has moved into my mouth and I'm currently anxiety-ing my way through my head wanting my rip my teeth out. My teeth feel like they hurt, as if they don't belong in my mouth, as if they're foreign to me. 

Isn't that the stupidest thing? 

As if brushing my teeth and using mouth wash and flossing twice a day isn't enough. 

So now, I'm at a point where my gums and teeth are so raw and sensitive for over brushing and still feeling like an alien in my own body. The sensation of which sends me into a depression that sees me cowering in bed with Netflix and movies designed to lift me up that do the exact opposite.

Can you even imagine what it's like to so furiously want to rip your own teeth out? To want them out of your mouth? To have your head tell you it's the only way you'll feel free?

I feel crazy and deranged and a whole bunch of other words that make me feel as I should be committed or taken away from people because I fucking suck.

I just brushed my teeth.

I just flossed.

And gargled mouth wash.

I furiously scrubbed at the back of my teeth with those picky brush thingys.

They still feel dirty.

They still feel wrong.


watch//foodie movies i love

I am not a foodie, nowhere near it actually. I tend to despise "gourmet" food or anything too fussy. I adore cheese fries. One of my favourite meals is steamed chicken and broccoli. Yet, I love a good foodie movie -- the technique, the styling, the aroma that fills my mind. All divine. Here are my favourites --

because i said so -- it's got Diane Keaton so, obviously, sign me up! But, also, the cakes! Watch for the cakes! Also, Lauren Graham & polka dots
no reservations -- sure, it's got some sad undertones but the food in this even if it involves truffles and quail looks glorious
the hundred foot journey -- such a wonderful film. So quite, peaceful and beautiful
it's complicated -- Nancy Meyers does good kitchen doesn't she? That scene where Meryl & Steve make chocolate croissants is my dream in life. 


friday five//current fave snaps

Last week I came across a mum who was the exact replica of Amy Poehler in Mean Girls at the Christmas Pageant, straight up stage managing her daughter during a kids dance off at fucking Bunnings. It was one of the best things that's ever happened to me. That's parenting dedication right there. Love it. I, of course, am not that dedicated to anything in life. Even B. Still, I hover at mum-who-takes-pictures-of-every-fucking-thing and that's okay by me. But seriously, one day I hope to stage manage a dance-off at Bunnings and then get angry when my kid doesn't win. It's important to have goals. Remember this.

B's pose in this photo makes me want to burst into happy tears every single time I see it. We got our nails and hair done together and she was proud and so chatty and, man, I just love that kid more than life itself.

This is my favourite photo in the entire world.

 This is how she sleeps. Music. Headphones. Ridiculous position.
All the checks.

Last week B. & I went out for shopping and dinner while Husband put together her cubby house as a surprise/present for getting new sight words at school {yes, we're those parents}. This is how the mermaid chose to pose and I thought it was quite apt.

 Sometimes being a parent means buying bunny tutus and going to Easter Egg hunts and waiting for what feels like seventy hundred hours for face painting. And, sometimes, it's this. And this is the best. 


misadventures in parenting//i don't believe in babysitters

Sometimes I feel like the dumbest parent in the entire world. Defective. Case in point -- I don't believe in babysitters. I know they exist. I know having friends or family "babysit" is also a thing but I just refuse to believe. Here's why --

1. I have seriously never come to the point where I needed one. I may be slightly {overly} attached to B. but, look, she's fun and I love going out for dinner with her. Husband ain't that interesting.
2. I have seen babysitters get drunk while their full attention is supposed to be on the child. This shit happens and it ain't happening anywhere near B.
3. I have insane trust issues. I barely trust my Husband {he knows this}. Why would I trust anyone else?
4. People are too interested in their phones to properly watch my kid and if she were to be watched by someone they would need to give her the same amount of attention as I do. They're also not allowed to drink, smoke or take drugs while doing so even if she's asleep. They are to cook her proper meals. See? I'm insane.
5. Babysitters get stalked and murdered. Fictional movies tell me this is true.


letting go & moving on

Can we discuss the best piece of advice in the world? Well, it's not really advice and it's probably, most certainly, not the best, but here it is --

If you are unhappy, if you feel depressed/anxious/whatever and if there are people in your life who are causing you to feel that way, who are making your life worse, let go of them and move on.


Best thing ever.

Because no life lived miserably is one well lived. If there are people {or perhaps just one person} in your life who are harming your mental health, making you anxious and depressed, making you wish you could get into a car crash instead of seeing them, well, they need to go. Simple as that.

It shouldn't matter who they are. Friend. Family. Random acquaintance. Let them go and don't ever look back.


anxiety & sleep

Anxiety makes sleep virtually impossible. Depression makes you constantly tired.

Medication helps you fall asleep, helps your mind stop racing. And it helps. But not always.

The other night I had a bad dream and, like, big deal. Everyone has bad dreams. Except my mind convinces me that these bad dreams are reality. So when I dream that Bailey has left her bedroom window open and is about to be kidnapped I wake up and fret and worry and check that damn window one hundred bloody times.

But I still can't sleep. I become convinced that it's a conspiracy between Bailey and my Husband to get the fuck away from me because obviously! So I begin to stare warily at my Husband thinking: who are you? And even when he convinces me that he would never do something like that and even when he cuddles up close and holds my I hand I still think but what if? So three turns into four and I still can't sleep and then when it finally comes it's fitful and restless and horrible.

I don't know why I can't just write off bad dreams as bad dreams. 

I don't know why I am always convinced that I'm not worthy.

I don't know...


shipping woes

I always imagine Australia as that really nerdy person who thinks they're cool but will never be but they try so hard that it hurts. Like that guy in Pretty Fly For A White Guy. Or like fetch, it's just never going to happen. Sure, we have Medicare and good gun laws but Australia, for me, has never felt like home. Never has. Never will. We do actually plan on moving either interstate {perhaps Melbourne is more us?} or overseas {America or London, yes please!} but until then let me complain about shipping why don't you?

1. Shopbop says shipping will take 3 business days or less guaranteed. 
Takes 6.

2. I ordered a cake topper for my sisters wedding from Glistening Occasions. Was informed the item would be shipped express Monday and would arrive Tuesday or Wednesday. Item was received Thursday {day before wedding!} after 2 days of anxiety and tears because no tracking number was given. Parcel arrived with postage stamp from Tuesday at 3.30.

3. Beauty Bay says shipping will take 7-10 business days {already far too bloody long!} but parcel arrived day 14 with eye shadow shattered. 

4. ASOS does free express shipping to Aus. but conveniently the company who does this does not ship to P.O Boxes/Parcel Lockers. You are only notified of this after failed attempt at delivery and when the items are on their way back to ASOS. 

Never mind that one can never order from places like Modcloth or Think Geek because shipping costs are prohibitively expensive.

Ugh, Australia you suck.  


friday five//more easter goodies

I know, I know, I just did an Easter gift guide but, look, there's more stuff needed okay? One could assume that this is pure laziness right here but it's not, I swear it. I adore a good gift guide and, let's face facts, my gift guides are awesome. Without further ado, five more Easter goodies --

yay! chocolate for breakfast -- for the dark chocolate lover {which just so happens to be Husband}
such a shame this isn't milk...
easter tree -- I do whine constantly about the lack of year round trees but this twig tree has answered my complaints. I envision an Easter tree, birthday trees, Valentines tree. The possibilities are endless and I need it now. 
owl nightie for b. -- so cute & kid loves a good nightie
sausage dog jammies -- adorable


consigning with blue spinach

Quite some time ago now I contacted Blue Spinach to consign my Chanel Camellia and Louis Vuitton Pochette. Despite some tears as the last item sold {the Louis} it was really a wonderful experience and I'm so glad I did it. Here's the lowdown --

1. I went on their website and read all their consigning information. Deciding that it sounded like a good fit for me and my items I sent through the consignment form and photos for owner Jane.
2. After some emailing Jane and I picked a time for me to visit and in to Darlinghurst I went.
3. I took both the Chanel and Louis Vuitton with me along with the receipts and authentication. I didn't have the original box for the Chanel as B. had claimed it as her own and then left it in the rain and the Pochette came inside my Neverfull so it didn't have a box or dust bag. Buyers, I think, prefer these items but they aren't essential to have.
4. A few days after my visit Jane contacted me, after having done research, with the prices she wanted to sell my items for. I agreed on these and then we were good to go.
5. A good piece of information to note here is doing this means you need to give Jane & Blue Spinach three months to sell your items. You don't get the money beforehand. You just wait. This was fine for me because the Chanel was blah and the Pochette was perpetually unused.
6. Once an item sells Jane will contact you with all the information regarding the sale. She'll then transfer the money into your selected account {or this is what she did for me} and then voila! you can take a trip into Louis Vuitton and dance.
{I should mention that for the first sale -- the Chanel -- I did have to email first, however, it's not a big deal. People get busy. But keep this in mind}.
7. If your item is not selling or Jane thinks the price needs to be dropped she will contact you first. If you agree on the reduced price then she will adjust accordingly. The Louis sold at a reduced price but I still went shopping at Louis Vuitton with the money from this sale.
8. Once your items are sold it's done. It really is as simple as that.
9. You may cry when you get notified that the Louis has sold so make sure that your a 100% set on selling. Once they're gone they're gone.
10. Jane & Blue Spinach were such a dream to work with and I highly recommend them to anyone and everyone.


Brands like Chanel and Louis Vuitton receive better percentage splits. I think for these items the split was 60-40 which was wonderful.

There are no fees unless the item needs to be cleaned or repaired. 

Always make a booking before showing up if you wish to consign. There's no guarantee you can be seen.

Try not to spend your entire life savings in store. Trust me, I was tempted.


beauty//the three biggest wastes of space

Can we discuss the products that just suck terribly? I mean, how did they even get put on shelves? Is it one big practical fucking joke? Or do people just not give a crap anymore?

this horrible nudes palette from Maybelline that has no pigment and is just one stupid lump of crap.
 this stupid exfoliating wash from Philosophy -- that doesn't work at all & that I've now palmed off to Husband because he don't know better.
& finally, this stupid piece of crap from L'OREAL -- the Paris Brow Artist Genius Kit which has no staying power and is just a blah fest of sadness.

Congratulations L'OREAL, Philosophy and Maybelline you've failed miserably at doing your job just like the dinosaur supervisor from Jurrasic Park --


on marriage...

There are a few things that have occurred to me lately  --

one. I willingly said "I do" when the vows have a section about marriage being between a man and a woman. That makes me sick to even think about. Husband says I cringed during the ceremony at that part but I still went through with it and that makes me mad. I don't want to be married if it's definition is so hideously barbaric. Fuck that.

two. Marriage is sometimes really bloody scary because even if you're married to your best friend your eyes might still wander and then you're stuck in this position of wanting/needing/craving an open marriage and now having to navigate a life with that in it. What does that even entail? 

I have nothing against open marriages because to me sex has never been about love but, man, it's tricky isn't it? Especially when the "other" person thinks it's weird that this is your marriage. But... it's your marriage and as long as you and your partner agree then it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

three. Saying "I do" means still loving someone when they have a hideous infected toe and I don't think I'm down with that monstrosity. 


friday five//i love you, you idiot

I love stupid things, enough said. Here's five on my current stupid list --

weekend. over & out.


beauty//the trump trend

Look, I don't want to tell anyone how to live their life but I'm concerned. Is the orange face thing a trend now? Is this something girls {and guys, too, I guess?} are aspiring to? Because, see, here's the thing. I had my make up done for a wedding last week and the lady said to me that she was going to go just one shade darker than my usual skin tone {which is see-through by the way}. I said okay because I decided to trust her and was more focused on not flashing the whole salon my vagina/trying to keep track of my child who had, of course, befriended an older woman.

After she was done I saw my face in the mirror and, sure, it looked a bit cakey but makeup artists always seem to be a tad heavy handed and I knew I could blot later but the lights in there made me look normal. But when I got into the car Husband looked at me and commented on my orange face. He may as well have said: hey Donald I don't agree with your politics and I certainly don't appreciate you impersonating my wife and kidnapping my kid! Let's pretend he said that shall we? 

I wanted to cry. My entire face was completely orange. To top it off miss "I'll blend it really well" clearly didn't understand the definition of blending because I had orange streaks down my face. She mentioned that I needed to go a shade darker so I would look good in pictures but here's the thing -- if looking good in pictures means looking like the spawn of Donald Trump and an Oompa Loompa then I don't bloody need it!

Have we become so vain and self-involved, so desperate to look like a Kardashian and flawless in photos that we're willing to sacrifice how we look in real life? I think so. And isn't that really bloody sad? Because, look, my Husband is a really laid-back kind of guy and he always thinks I look beautiful and never thinks my bum looks big in things so if he's commenting that I look like a fucking Oompa Loompa/Trump hybrid then you know something's wrong.

And, here's the thing, it's not just this one make up lady that thinks being orange is a good thing. It's everywhere and people are contouring and buffing and plucking themselves into oblivion and they look frozen. Now, of course, if they're happy like that then fine, let's leave them to it. But, honestly, it's not a good look. Why don't you look human? Why are people embracing this whole blow-up doll-esque way of life as if being flawless is something to aspire to?

Can't we just embrace looking natural and, sure, be tan if you want to be tan but, let's face facts, there's a difference from being to tan to being orange and so many people are so fucking orange and fake that it makes my head hurt. 

I sob for society that this is the new "in" thing along with cut outs and slits and every single orange body part showing. Where did natural beauty go?


fathers are people too!

I know, stupid title. Forgive me.

But, look... I'm really bloody sick of all you dumb fuckers out there. When a father takes his daughter for a haircut while her mother gets a facial {in the next fucking room!} he is not "watching her" for her mother. He's just being a parent. He shoved his dick in, got it? He knew what he was doing! He's a part of it too.

A father isn't babysitting his kid. He's doing his job!

When a dad takes his daughter and his nephew to the shop he's not "such a wonderful man". He's doing the same thing any woman does. It's called being a normal functioning member of society. Look it up.

A man is allowed to be a kindergarten teacher without comment.

It's okay for a man to be at home with his spawn while his wife works. Don't have a heart attack. No need to stop the presses. It's just Tuesday. Just calm the fuck down.


Can we leave men alone? Can women go get a fucking haircut alone without them being told how lucky they are? Yes I am lucky, thank you. I have my health and happiness. Know what doesn't make me lucky? Having a Husband who looks after their own kid. My Husband washes dishes and takes out the rubbish. He's an adult. Congratulations. He's passed go and collected two hundred dollars. Get the fuck over it.


watch//things that go bump in the night

 Goosebumps -- my childhood brought to life. Corny but wonderful.

Fuller House -- is John Stamos the most wet dreamiest person in the world?
Kimmy Gibbler has a bacon and egg scarf and I need it in my life.

House of Cards -- the newest season. Haven't binge watched it yet? What are you even doing with your life? Call in sick you damn fools and do it. Do it now.


being mum//the anti-tablet family

Husband & I became those parents. Kid playing up -- tablet. Silence. Bliss.

And then eventually we realised that B. was addicted to it and she was missing out on life. And I know that sounds like a stupid cliche dumb thing to say but it's true man. Husband & I did Easter craft without B. because she was too busy watching YouTube. She wasn't listening. She's addicted.

Of course, Husband & I could have parented better but... meh, that's just too darn hard.

So, we sold B's tablet. Purchased a cheap phone that she can only use as an MP3 Player {iPods are expensive!} and sat her down after school and told her what was what. She cried. We showed her the phone. Told her it was only for music and selfies. She stopped crying and pretended to take a phone call for a meeting with some random. All was well.

So now we're the anti-tablet family and it feels kind of weird. Like we're anti-technology too but, also, like we kind of defeated the purpose of selling the tablet because we got her a phone to replace it. And sure, it's only for music but, geez, wouldn't it be nice if the kid could go one car trip and actually speak to her parents? I mean, I hated my parents but I had every reason to. B. has awesome parents {obviously -- *cough* *cough*}.

The tablet made us lazy parents. Simple as that. And it is lazy, shoving a tablet at a kid so they'll shut the hell up. I don't want to be that kind of parent. I want my kid to interact with me. I want to be able to have a conversation with them that isn't delayed by five minutes every time because they're too enthralled by Ben and bloody Holly to hear me. I mean, sure, I'm a lazy bitch but I don't want to be a lazy bitch to B. 

I hate myself for even thinking this, doing this, feeling this. It makes me feel so darn old, as if technology is the enemy. And it really isn't. I love it but I just hate that it's at the forefront of our lives as if it's the most important thing. So no. No more tablet for B. She's not even 5, kid don't need one! And isn't it ridiculous that we ever thought she did? 

So here's to better parenting, less technology and a kid who actually responds {I can dream can't I?)


friday five

Would it be especially lame to say happy House of Cards day? Because it's House of Cards day and I'm so frickin' excited. It's Husband's and my show {along with OITNB} and it's the type where if one of us were to watch it without the other, well, that's what divorce is for. Anyway, five things around the house that have made me smile lately --

^true that man

^this bunny's name is Cecil & I want to keep him out all year round

 ^new bedding for Husband & I -- cats from Target & Miffy from Cotton On Kids {pillow & cases}

 ^because you totally need scrabble tiles to tell you things such as these

^watermelon bath mat from Target that brightens up my bathroom and makes me deliriously happy


help me//i'm addicted to stickers

I am the adult who never quite outgrew being a kid. I still love all the things I loved back then but I think I love them more now. It might be because my childhood kind of sucked and I'm grasping at straws. It might be because I was dropped on the head a lot as a baby. Or maybe that combined with the fact that my mother probably drank heavily throughout her pregnancy with me? I mean, maybe I'm a bit... you know. Or maybe I'm just bloody awesome? Who knows. All I do know is that I have a problem. I'm addicted to stickers.

Stickers. I'll let that sink in a bit more. For my planner and other planning needs. Stickers. And no Officeworks lady I'm not a teacher! I'm just spending two hundred dollars on stickers for myself okay! Can I live?

But seriously...

How many stickers can one have? This many, apparently. Should I mention that this is an actual mound? Like, there's stickers underneath the ones on top. I have taco stickers and ice cream stickers and monster stickers and it's still not enough dammit.

Also, sticker books. So many sticker books...

I do have regular intercourse. But I understand the confusion.

& then...

I have filed my stickers. I sigh and roll my eyes at myself don't you worry. But, also, this is a section of the accordion file. It is not the whole damn thing! There's sections for food stickers and animal stickers and cute label stickers and what the flipping heck?

The issue, of course, lies in the fact that I genuinely believe that I don't have enough stickers. I am also fiercely protective of my stash and nobody else is allowed to touch them without my express permission. But, also, sometimes I catch myself saying to Husband "when we eat Mexican you can use one of my taco stickers for your planner" as if taco stickers are the world's greatest gift. Also, Husband has a planner to actually remember shit because he has the worst memory but, me, well I have a great one and I remember stupid details from seventy billion years ago like what underwear I wore when Husband and I first had sex {a.k.a when I vomited all over his room and he put me in the shower and didn't cop a feel}.

So, in conclusion, I need to go to sticker-holics anonymous. Yes?


the broke girl diaries

I know I buy too much stuff. Sometimes I can't even with myself and I have to admit that this is not all of it. Nowhere near it. I have a problem.
 Skinny Dip phone cases -- unicorn & barbie
Micro Beauty Blenders {not online} -- buy from Beauty Bay here
Sportsgirl Pins -- fries before guys & happy days {other sportsgirl must-haves: this panda & this tassel}

-- also...

Too Faced Bulletproof Brows -- universal brunette

& now, let's discuss --

& I also may or may not have purchase a Cloud Nine straightener Christmas pack from my hair/beauty place. Hmm...


sephora v. mecca



Both are wonderful. But which is better? I selflessly went out yesterday and tested both just for you {warning: bank accounts were harmed in the making of this post} --

SEPHORA, of course, has that new exciting appeal. Products we've never been able to get here in lame Aus. before. Marc Jacobs! Tarte!

MECCA is less of a novelty. It's been around for quite some time but it's just gotten better with age. Also, Origins! Stila! Hourglass!

BOTH have basically the same layout but I prefer MECCA -- it just feels more open and organised.

SEPHORA wins at the cash grab at the counter since delicious bits & bobs form around the line.

MECCA is a little bit more quiet in their attempts to take all your money and that's kind of nice also. Depends what you're in the mood for.

SEPHORA has their own massive collection which is v. appealing but seems a bit cheap.

MECCA's own range is wonderfully luxe.

SEPHORA has lovely sales people but everyone jumps at you and asks if you need help which can get quite tiresome if you're in the store for longer than 5 minutes. Just let me browse damn it! 

MECCA girls let you be but don't leave you desperate for attention. 

SEPHORA girls complement you on your milk carton bag {seriously, all the girls}.

MECCA mentions the bag once or twice.

SEPHORA has a reward card/program that's too new for comment.

MECCA seemingly has a wonderful one but I never get my Beauty Loop boxes and that makes me sad.

SEPHORA, during this trip, was sold out of a few products I needed.

MECCA had everything I dreamed of.

SEPHORA plops everything in a paper bag.

MECCA wraps everything in delicious pink tissue paper with Mecca stickers and the most divine bag.


Don't you dare ask me to pick a winner! I couldn't possibly. Shan't possibly.

Mecca seems to come out on top for most things but to be honest I truly think they do different things. Mecca is a bit more high-end, a bit more luxurious. Sephora is for everyday with a hint of marvellous Marc thrown in for good measure. 

Whose your favourite?